She's All Hart
by Ophelia Tate
Summary: Maya is an artist for a number of reasons. Where her words fail, her art speaks. It's only a matter of what she's trying to say. Post "Girl Meets Ski Lodge", so spoilers obviously. I didn't really know what to categorize this as, there isn't a genre for broken romance. (one shot)


**An unnecessarily overly-serious pseudo pretentious fic about a children's TV program featuring excessive use of metaphor. Mostly written for my younger sister who was just as disappointed with "Girl Meets Ski Lodge Part 2" as I was. The title comes from a quote Riley says in "Girl Meets 1961", but in my drafts this was titled _Lucaya that should have been_. Interpret that however you want.**

 **Sorry if this sucks, or seems too serious.  
Optional song pairing for this would be _Ashes and Wine_ by A Fine Frenzy. **

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Maya is an artist for a number of reasons.  
1) when her mom couldn't afford any toys she would bring home crayons from kids' coloring packs at the diner  
2) reading was hard for Maya, words weren't easy, but colors were always simple  
3) painting from the heart was a lot easier than speaking from the heart

She'd paint flowers coming out of the cracks in her walls, she'd draw stars on notebooks when she couldn't focus, she even used her own tears for a few watercolors. Riley had once pointed out "art" was part of her last name, Maya H _art_. Maya was an artist for a number of reasons, but the most important one was that she never had to hide in art. Her brush strokes were as fast as her thoughts. Not like her words. Words got stuck in her mouth and her mind and never came out right, sometimes they never came out at all.

"Why did you dump a smoothie over my head?"  
 _Why did Riley dump a bucket of soapy water over your head?_

"'What's your personality, library or campfire?'"  
 _Library; New York. Who you're trying to be. Campfire; Texas. Who you've always been. Who you really are_.

"You were trying to protect her."  
 _If I wanted to protect her I wouldn't have have shoved her into his lap. If I was trying to protect her I would've held her hand until we reached our stop. If I was trying to protect her_ -

"I don't think you both like the same boy."  
 _But you weren't there when he almost kissed me. In Texas, under the stars, in front of the fire, he almost kissed me. He held my face in his hands like I would float away if he let go. Like I was a butterfly and he didn't want to crush me. He looked at me for the first time,_ really _looked at me. I felt it in my knees. I felt it in my chest. I felt it in my throat all the way up to my lips when he almost kissed me. You weren't there. You don't know. He almost kissed me. He almost kissed me. He almost kissed me. He almost kissed me and that was real. It was real and nobody can ever take that away from me_.

When they return from the Mount Sun Ski Lodge, the itching and twitching in Maya's hands begins. So she puts a pencil between her fingers and she draws. She draws the outlines of jaw lines, square with a pointed chin and curve of thin lips, a ghost of a smile. She draws surprised eyes and gentle hands. She draws a girl with long wavy hair, in a dress she only ever wore once, sitting alone at the dying embers of a fire. She trades graphite for colored pencils, and draws a picture of a sky full of more stars than she'd ever seen in her whole life, then she draws the outline of eyes over the top, so it's a sky of sparkling blue and big pupils staring the observer down.  
Then she puts a paintbrush in her hands. People in her art class always ask her how she paints without sketching so much as an outline first. Maya tells them that words get stuck in her mouth if she tries to figure out how to say them properly, and that it feels like she's trying to write an essay she knows she'll fail. So when she paints it has to be instant, otherwise the feelings will get stuck and dry up like clumps of paint let out for too long.

Riley isn't in her art class anymore. After realizing that an F in Spanish was scary enough without adding an F in art, Riley changes classes. Her GPA needs more attention and Maya needs more room. So of course, since she hasn't seen any of Maya's new work, Riley promises to be at the student showcase. Why wouldn't she be? The whole group will be there. Even her mom has promised to come. For real this time. Maya's heart has only felt this full one other time.

 _He almost_ -

There are so many works of art that night, the art department has to set up in the gym. One girl stands in front of a collection of charcoal drawings, a boy with pink hair stands next to a table with a vase glazed like setting sun, someone from Maya's class has three poster boards covered in black and white photography. But when her family and friends come to her display, there's nothing else like it. A series of portrait oriented canvases covered in acrylic paints, cut up fabrics, and other materials. There are five pieces in the whole set. The label says "mixed media".

Two of the smaller pieces are two different drawings cut from the sketches from her notebook; a girl alone at a fire and blue eyes like stars in the sky. You can't tell though, because the pictures are clipped together like puzzle pieces, or cubism; alternating between graphite pencil and colored pencil. Neither picture is recognizable in this form.

The third, a medium sized work, has pieces of white fabric with _casi_ \- the Spanish word for _almost_ \- painted over it along the edges. The painted white cloth is sewn into the canvas in ruffled layers. The fabric is from the white dress Maya bought in Texas. She has no other use for it now.

Painting number four is covered completely in paint and scratches and even has a few tears in the surface. For that one, Maya dipped her hands in all her favorite colors and clawed at the canvas like a four year old with finger paints. The scratches happened as she got more aggressive with her hands. She had paint underneath her fingernails even after a week.

The last piece is simple. Watercolors and acrylics, both of Maya's favorite paints. A portrait of a girl with long blonde hair, a crown of flowers woven into her curls and waves. Her gaze is turned into the wind, hair obscuring most of her face so that it can't be called a true profile painting. The background is in watercolor, a blur that looks like New York City and a little bit of Central Park with its blues and greens and grays. The girl is in acrylic, the contrast between the two paints gives the portrait a tilt shift effect.

"The girl with the long blonde hair. Like in my great grandmother Rosie's notebook." Riley says. Maya bites her tongue and nods.  
"That's right Riles," she lies. "May Clutterbucket."  
"Oh yeah. You come from a long line of Clutterbuckets." Lucas jokes. Seeing him smile is enough to make it easier to fake it.  
"Yeah, that's right Merlin Scoggins." Maya plays along. There's a long silence as the whole group soaks in Maya's work. It's powerful, overbearing, vulnerable, overstimulating. The theme of blues and reds and strong emotions is unlike anything else on display. Her art teacher had almost cried when he evaluated her collection for a grade. Maya, however, _did_ end up crying when he told her it was mature and groundbreaking for someone her age. He said he'd never had a student create something so raw.  
"Alright, that's enough gazing at my masterpiece," Maya says after another minute, in an effort to break the serious silence. "You should keep walking, see the other students' work."  
"Baby girl, are you sure?" Her mom asks. "I can stick around until Shawn comes, he said he'd be here soon-"  
"It's fine, Mom. I mean, you can always ask me to show this to you again. I'm not going to burn it after tonight or anything. This is your only chance to see the other stuff here though," Maya says. "Besides, Shawn doesn't like getting emotional in front of other people, and he's probably going to give me that sappy look like when he bought me clothes once he sees this. I'd like to show it to him one on one."  
"Alright." Her mom replies. She hugs her tight and kisses her forehead.  
"Great job, Maya," Cory says. "You have a gift, and I'm glad you didn't give up like May Clutterbucket did." He points at the portrait of 'May'. "Your dreams are valid, and I hope you never give them up."  
"You continue to amaze me, Maya." Topanga says. It's a simple statement, she doesn't need to say anything else. She and Cory start to walk around again. Riley steps forward.  
"Maya, I can't even begin to describe-"  
"I know." Maya cuts her off. Riley doesn't say anything for a moment. She reaches out and strokes Maya's arm.  
"You're talented, Maya. Don't ever forget that." Riley says. The two of them hug for a moment. Zay doesn't say anything, he just nods and walks away. Maya swears he was wiping a tear from his eye. Farkle looks like he's going to say something, but his girlfriend beats him to the punch.  
"Science cannot explain things like art. This is not something I am familiar with. But that doesn't mean I don't recognize its beauty." Smackle says.  
"Well put, Isadora." Maya agrees.  
"Yeah. What she said." Farkle jokes. He and Smackle move on. Lucas is already starting to walk away when Maya stops him.  
"What about you Huckleberry?" She asks. Lucas smiles.  
"I've always loved your art. You know that." He says. Maya smiles.  
"Thank you." She keeps her voice steady. Lucas is about to turn away, when he pauses again.  
"Are those real dried flowers?" He asks pointing at the portrait of a girl with long blonde hair.  
"Yeah," Maya says. "I wanted something extra in that piece. So I dried out rosebuds and bluebonnets and glued them to the canvas. I wanted it to feel real."  
"All of it feels real," Lucas says. He takes in the collection as a whole one last time. Then he turns to Maya. "You know, bluebonnets are the state flower of Texas."  
"Really?" Maya plays dumb. "I didn't know that. I just wanted red and blue, and I couldn't find any forget me nots to dry out."  
"Either way, it's still beautiful." Lucas says after a pause. Riley comes over.  
"Lucas?" She asks, brown eyes waiting and full of innocence. He nods, and takes her hand.

As they walk away, Maya speaks softly to herself,  
"I know bluebonnets are the Texas state flower. But, Lucas, do you know that roses are the New York State flower?"

Maya is an artist for a number of reasons. Her art can speak when she can't. But her real talent lies in being able to say it without anyone being able to pick up on it. Secret therapy. She will always sacrifice for Riley. First and foremost, Maya loves Riley. But secondly, maybe forever, Maya loves Lucas too. However, love for Riley will always win. So Maya will have to make due with sitting alone, at a circle of rocks surrounding dying embers. Dried roses in one hand, still-living bluebonnets in the other.

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 **Reviews and comments are more than welcome.**


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